


shine brightly in your eyes

by akamine_chan, Tipsy_Kitty



Category: Bandom, Comics Industry RPF, Frank Iero and the Patience, Gerard Way and the Hormones, My Chemical Romance, frnkiero andthe cellabration
Genre: Alternate Professions, Audio Format: MP3, Collaboration, Community: pod_together, M/M, Podfic, Podfic & Podficced Works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-02 19:11:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11515638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsy_Kitty/pseuds/Tipsy_Kitty
Summary: Gerard spends a lot of time looking out the window of his art studio, watching the New York City street below. And maybe has a little crush on the guy who keeps giving him parking tickets.





	shine brightly in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Story by akamine_chan, podfic by Tipsy_Kitty. Created for the pod_together 2017 challenge.

cover art by akamine_chan

| 

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  * **Size:** 22.6 MB | **Duration:** 24:33 

  
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## Six Days From Last Thursday

"He's so fucking hot," Gerard mumbled, nose pressed against the glass of the window. "Those tattoos—"

"Yeah, yeah, we know," Becky shot back. "Wanna lick them, want to see the ones _under_ his clothes, yada yada yada. Heard it all before."

He drew himself up to his full height, not tall, but at least taller than Becky. "It's simply an aesthetic appreciation of the man as a walking work of art," he said disdainfully, looking down his nose.

Becky managed to keep a straight face and nod solemnly back at him, before breaking into giggles.

Gerard flipped her off and turned back to the window. The New York street, four floors below, was crowded with parked cars, and not one single tattooed meter maid. He heaved a sigh, and sat back down at his desk, spinning idly in his chair.

"I know this might seem to be a wild idea, but you could, y'know, talk to the guy. Maybe ask him out to coffee or something." Becky studied her array of pens. "It's what normal people do."

"Oh, fuck no!" Gerard looked absolutely horrified. "I can't do that."

Becky sighed.

"I mean, I don't even know if he's—" Gerard waved his hand expressively.

". . .Gay, or bisexual?"

"Into dudes," he corrected. "Labels can be hurtful if you didn't choose and apply them to yourself."

"Okay," Becky said, agreeable. She's heard this lecture before. She shaded the curve of a tree trunk. "So ask him if he's 'into dudes' and if he says yes, then invite him out for coffee or something."

"I don't think so. He'd probably knock me out if he punched me. Those broad shoulders," Gerard said dreamily.

Becky couldn't contain the eyeroll. "You are _such_ a wuss."

"Yeah, probably," Gerard said, looking back out the window.

## Three Days After Next Tuesday

"Fuck! No no no!"

Becky jerked, making an unintentional squiggle on her sketch with the brush pen. She frowned, trying to decide if it could be fixed, while Gerard continued to moan pitifully.

"Nooooo!"

It could probably be fixed, she thought. Maybe incorporated into the foliage. Gerard whimpered, and she looked up to see his upper body pressed against the window, arms spread wide, like he was signaling a field goal. "Another ticket?" she asked unsympathetically.

"Yesssss."

"You know, maybe if you actually kept your car in a garage, rather than parking it on the street and feeding the meter a small fortune in quarters, this wouldn't happen." Becky turned the squiggle into a branch and a series of leaves.

"Ha! I'm not made outta money, y'know."

Becky shrugged, because Gerard had a point. The long-term parking rates in the city were ridiculous. "Except you probably pay as much in tickets. . ."

"Probably," Gerard mumbled.

"And why do you even have the damn thing? You never drive anywhere, and it's a piece of shit. . ."

Gerard pulled himself away from the window and looked at her reproachfully. "It's my car."

## Two Days Before Next Friday

"Noooooo!"

Becky started, but managed to lift the brush before it ruined the drawing she was doing of vampire Ophelia. She went over to the window where Gerard was plastered against the glass. Looking down, she could see a man place a ticket under the windshield wiper of Gerard's beleaguered car.

"It just expired," Gerard said, breathing out loudly. "I was going to head down and put more quarters in, but—" He threw himself into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. "Fuck!"

Becky watched as the guy climbed into his little meter maid car and trundled away.

## Two Weeks After The Last Day Of The Month

The alarm on Gerard's phone went off, a soft chime, and he hit the snooze button, not looking up from the sketch he was working on. He had the seed of an idea, a dysfunctional family of superheroes, and he was doing a little brainstorming.

The alarm rang again, a little more insistent, and Gerard absently tapped at the screen to silence it.

The third time, Gerard stared at the face of his phone, puzzled. "Oh, fuck!" he said, scrambling up from his chair and racing for the door.

Becky moved over to the window and watched as moments later, Gerard emerged from the front door of the building and ran to his car. There was, unsurprisingly, a ticket under the windshield wiper.

From her vantage point, Becky could see the meter maid's vehicle driving slowly down the street. Gerard, radiating anger even at this distance, balled up the ticket and threw it at his car.

## Last Monday

Becky was having a shitty morning, and she needed caffeine _now_.

She'd woken up late, some guy had fucking groped her on the train, and worst of all, she'd dropped her backpack and it had burst open, exploding loose pages of sketches all over the street.

Now that she was in the studio, she needed coffee or she was going to kill someone, but the idea of trekking down the block to the closest Starbucks pushed her to the edge of tears. Rage-y tears.

She knew that Gerard usually kept a stash of Starbucks knock-off canned espresso in the bottom drawer of his desk, just for emergencies.

_This_ was definitely an emergency.

Becky pulled on the drawer, but it only opened an inch or so. Jammed. Maybe papers turned the wrong way, or rulers and pencils stuck in the tracks of the drawer.

She rocked the drawer in and out a little, trying to get a feel for the problem. It felt like something that could be fixed with the application of force, so she yanked.

The drawer crunched open, and there were a couple of cans of espresso, a happy little coffee bean waving from the label. The cans were nested in a mess of papers, and Becky didn't mean to look, really, but—

The door opened and Gerard walked in, ridiculous sunglasses covering most of his face, his usual Quad Venti Cappuccino, Skinny, Extra Dry clutched in his hand. He saw Becky crouched over his drawer, and his eyebrows drew together.

"Gerard, we need to talk," she said gently. "Also, I need this caffeine." She cracked open the can and took a gulp, straightening up.

"Hmmmm," Gerard said, noncommittally.

"Tell me these are _paid_ parking tickets." She pointed to the profusion of tickets stuffed into the drawer.

"They're paid parking tickets," Gerard parroted, taking a sip of his coffee.

He wouldn't look at her, though, gazing around the room like he'd never seen their studio before. "Are you lying to me?"

"Yes."

"Oh my God, Gerard, you're gonna get arrested, they're gonna tow away your car—"

He moaned. "Shit, I know, I know." He took off his sunglasses and threw them on his desk. "I keep forgetting! And now there's so many of them, I think I need a lawyer."

Becky winced, because lawyers were expensive. She chugged the rest of the espresso. "Do it now, Gerard. Right now. Get online, find a lawyer, make an appointment." She pushed him into his chair. "I can't pay the rent on this place by myself, and I'm kinda fond of it. The light's real good."

Gerard had his do-not-want face on, but Becky stood over him threateningly until he found a lawyer and make an appointment to meet with them. "Happy?" he grumped.

"Extremely!" She ruffled his hair, which was already in serious disarray, and went back to her own work space. "Put a reminder in your phone," she said as she did the same. She would make sure that Gerard didn't miss this appointment.

## A Random Wednesday Next Month

Gerard pulled the ticket free of the windshield wiper with a deep sigh, aware of Becky's judgemental gaze. He folded the ticket up and shoved it into his pocket.

"Did you want to go get coffee?" she asked.

It had been a _very_ long day, full of artistic angst and ideas that refused to jell. Neither of them had managed to get anything significant done on their projects. Coffee sounded heavenly.

"Yeah, except I can't stay long. Promised Mikey I'd go check out a band with him." Gerard really wanted to go home, put on his favorite pjs, and watch mindless, trashy reality tv shows until he fell asleep on his lumpy couch.

"Live music is good. I've got a ticket to see Unholy Primordial next week," Becky said, diffidently.

She was a redhead, and as such, it was impossible for her complexion to hide a blush. Gerard watched, fascinated, as the color crept into her cheeks. "Becky Cloonan, do you have a date?"

"No, definitely not," she said. "It's not a date if you don't show up together." Somehow, her face got redder.

"Is this the guy, the one with the piercing, and the—" Gerard lasciviously mimicked licking something. He was pretty good with his tongue, according to some.

Becky covered her face with her hands. "Oh my God, I should never have told you about that!"

Gerard snorted. "You tell me everything." He slanted a glance at her. "You gonna reciprocate this time?" He poked his tongue into his cheek.

"Fuck off," she laughed, linking elbows and dragging him down the street.

## Four Hours Before Midnight

There was hardly anyone in the bar when the first band took the stage. Gerard was in back with Mikey and Ray, a bottle of water in hand and holding up the wall. The three of them were talking about music, like always.

Gerard had seen the middle two bands before, and they were okay, nothing to write home about. Ray was excited about the headliner, some friend of his named Frank, while Mikey twitched every time the openers hit a sour note.

Ray caught Gerard's eye, winced and looked apologetic. "It'll be worth it, I promise," he shouted. Gerard really hoped so, because this was like listening to fingernails on a blackboard.

The opener's set was mercifully short.

"The guy who owns this place," Mikey shouted, gesturing around them, leaning in. "His younger brother's in the band. He insisted they open."

"A gig's a gig," Ray said, speaking loudly over the bar noise.

Gerard shrugged, because he and Mikey had been in enough bands over the years to know that it was true. A gig was a gig, even if you had to let shitty bands open for you.

## A Hundred And Twenty Five Minutes Later

By the time Ray's friend took the stage, the three of them had worked their way through the crowd to stand up against the knee-high stage. The bar had filled up over the evening, and it was clear that a lot of people had shown up for the headliners.

"Hi everyone, I'm Frank," the guy said into the mic, slinging his guitar across his body. Gerard couldn't help staring, because the guy was hot. Dark hair, a pointy chin, and a smile that was wide and bright and a tiny bit bashful. "Thanks for coming out to see us."

There was something familiar about the guy, like Gerard had seen him before. But that didn't make any sense; Gerard was an artist and he had an excellent memory for faces, there was no way that Gerard would ever forget this one. 

It was hot in the bar, the press of bodies making the heat almost oppressive. Up on stage, under the lights, it had to be worse. Frank was already sweating, and for some reason he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt. He pushed the sleeves to his elbows, revealing a fuck load of tattoos.

Gerard sucked in a breath, because fuck, he had a huge kink for tattoos. He wanted to trace the art on this guy's body, see what other designs were hidden under his clothes.

The band started with a long, slow intro before crashing into a song that got the crowd moving, pushing and shoving. It was a little punky, a little hardcore, and very, very good.

Frank was an amazing guitarist, throwing himself wholeheartedly into the music, thrashing around on the tiny stage. The rest of the band were equally talented musicians, and Gerard understood now why the band drew a large crowd on a slow Wednesday night.

Ray turned to look at him, eyebrow raised, and Gerard couldn't help but grin back.

The song ended, and Frank tucked his hair behind his ears. "Thank you." He looked around at the crowd. "I see a lot of familiar faces, but I see a lot of new ones, too, which is great! Thanks for coming out." He spat on the floor. "We're Frank Iero and the Meter Maids, and this song is called _Joyriding_."

There was a shifting in Gerard's brain, and a loud _ting_ as recognition hit him, hard. He slapped at Mikey's arm. "Oh my God, Mikey, Mikey, that's the ticket guy!"

"What?" mouthed Mikey, as the band started the next song.

"The guy—the guy who keeps ticketing my car, the parking ticket guy, the hot one with the tattoos!"

"Frank?" Mikey asked, eyes wide.

"Yes!"

Mikey laughed and shook his head. "Only you, Gerard. Only you."

"What?" He shrugged his shoulders. Gerard knew he had the worst luck, but it would be nice if Mikey wouldn't laugh about it.

## An Hour After That

Gerard tried to leave right after the show was over, claiming he was too hot and tired to stick around, but Ray insisted that Gerard _had_ to meet Frank.

"You guys have a lot in common, Gerard. I think you'd get along," Ray said.

Gerard couldn't come up with a compelling reason why he had to leave. At least, not one that Ray would believe. "Fine," he said, sulking a little.

Mikey slanted a sly look at him, asshole little brother than he was.

## Seventeen Minutes After Midnight

Ray was right. After introducing Gerard to Frank, and vice versa, it was clear they _did_ have a lot in common. They talked, standing off the side of the stage, occasionally moving out of the way as musical equipment was ferried into a van out front. 

Frank was a very physical kind of guy. He stood almost too close, gestured with his hands, touched Gerard's arm, hand, shoulder. Gerard liked it, and tried not to imagine Frank's hands on other parts of his body. 

They talked about horror movies, comparing American slasher films to more intellectual Italian offerings. The enthused over Doom Patrol and the Invisibles, and how Grant Morrison had changed their lives. Frank was a die hard punk rocker, Gerard was more influenced by 90s Brit-Pop. They both lived in New Jersey, and commuted into the city.

"And you're actually a meter maid?"

Frank gave him a distinctly unfriendly look. "Parking Enforcement Officer, asshole." He drank from the beer that Gerard had bought him. "It's just something to tide me over until I can do the band thing full time."

Gerard held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry. It's gotta be a thankless job."

"You have no idea," Frank said, snorting a little. "The band's hoping to record our first album in a couple of months, and then we're going to do some touring, and I can tell my boss to shove it."

"It's a nice feeling," Gerard agreed. "When I was finally making enough with my art, I quit my part-time job at Barnes and Noble. It was so great to see the expression on my ex-boss' face when I told her I was done."

## Ten Minutes Later

One beer turned into two, then three, and they moved to a pair of sticky chairs at a rickety table. They kept talking, sharing favorite bands and movies, arguing about Jersey diners, and the best flavor of salt water taffy down at the Shore. Gerard mentioned that he was fascinated by tattoos, and was interested in the art behind them.

Gerard wasn't a hundred percent sure, but he thought he caught Frank staring at his mouth a couple of times. He licked his lip as an experiment, and got a heated thrill out of how Frank's eyes followed the movement. Maybe, just maybe, Frank was into dudes after all.

"So," Frank said casually, finishing his beer. "There's a bathroom over there. I can show you the rest of my tattoos, if you like."

Gerard had never had a better offer.

## Two Hours Before Dawn

It was a unisex bathroom, a small, tiled room with a toilet and sink, and the moment the door was shut, Gerard found himself pushed against it and kissed. Frank was, unsurprisingly, a good kisser, focused and intent. Gerard couldn't help himself, he skimmed his fingers over Frank's broad shoulders, moving over the back of Frank's neck before getting lost in his sweat-damp hair.

Gerard tugged a little, because Frank seemed to be the kind of guy who might like having his hair pulled, and it was a good guess, because Frank made a happy, sexy little sound and dropped to his knees. Gerard hadn't been expecting that, but he didn't have time to lodge a complaint; Frank's fingers were nimble and he worked open the belt and button on Gerard's jeans in a flash.

"Oh," Gerard said, a little stunned. He looked down as Frank opened his mouth and breathed on his cock, sending shudders up and down his spine. "Oh, oh, yes, Frank, please—"

Gerard lost his words. Or rather, Frank stole them with his mouth and tongue, too smug by half, and Gerard couldn't do anything but hold on and shiver as Frank took him deep, over and over again. It wasn't long before he came with a muffled shout.

His legs tried to slide out from under him, and he locked his knees and petted Frank's hair, wide-eyed as Frank undid his own pants and started stroking his dick, panting and a little desperate.

"Here, let me—" 

Gerard wanted to get his hand on Frank's dick, but Frank shook his head. "Too close, so close—" A couple more strokes and Frank was done, making a mess on the floor and pressing his mouth to Gerard's hip, smothering his moan against skin.

"Fuck," Gerard muttered, because that was probably the sexiest thing he'd ever seen in his entire fucking life. He wanted more, that was for sure.

## An Hour Before Lunch

They ended up at Gerard's apartment in Jersey City; it was closer than Frank's place in Hoboken. They tumbled into Gerard's sagging old bed and slept, and Gerard woke Frank up with soft, sweet kisses.

It was grey and cloudy outside, and they were warm and safe under the sheets, curled around each other.

Gerard traced a tattoo, and then met Frank's eyes, determined. "I need to tell you something."

"Oh, fuck," Frank groaned, rolling over and sitting up at the edge of the bed. "You're married, aren't you. I should have fucking known it was too good to be true."

"No, I'm not married, I promise."

Frank eyed him. "Serious boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

"Uh, no, what the hell? If I were in a committed, serious relationship, I never would have gone into that bathroom with you, never mind bringing you home to my apartment. I can't believe you'd think that of me." Gerard was working his way up to a temper tantrum.

"Sorry, sorry." Frank climbed back into bed, snuggling close. "It's just that I've had some bad experiences. I'm never this lucky. . ."

Gerard kissed him, because that was a nice thing to say. "No, uh, it has to do with your job."

And Frank was back to being annoyed. "No, I won't fix your parking ticket. It's illegal to even ask me. It's called bribery," Frank said.

"Oh my God, you're assuming the worst. I don't want you to fix my damn parking tickets!"

"What do you want then?" Frank's voice was getting louder.

"Well, I want keep having sex with you, and like, go to movies and the comic store with you, and take you to eat at the best pizza joint in Jersey." He pressed a kiss to Frank's mouth. "I don't want you to fix my tickets; I'm paying a lawyer an exorbitant amount of money to fix them for me. But I need you to be aware that the Parking Enforcement Officer that keeps ticketing my car. . .is you."

Frank laid in the bed, eyes closed, motionless for a moment. Then his nose wrinkled. "9th Street. Ancient, shitty Toyota Corolla? Blue. With like, a million tickets at this point?"

"That's me."

"And you're working on paying your tickets?"

"Yes," Gerard said firmly. His lawyer was meeting with some city official next week to start getting the tickets taken care of. It was probably going to cost him a fortune; maybe it was time to sell his car.

"Then I don't care," Frank said. He rolled over on top of Gerard, straddling him. "Tell me more about the sex part. The fucking. I want details. All the details." He smiled, and Gerard's heart skipped a beat.

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> From aka: 
> 
> Title from _Viva Indifference_ by Frank Iero and the Patience. Thanks to Ande for beta, and to Tipsy_Kitty for inspiration and patience.
> 
> I love working with Tipsy_Kitty because she is simply an amazing performer. And her voice just does _something_ to me, like, curls around my heart and makes me happy. She also has a wonderful voice for reading porn, so someday I'll have to write something filthy just for her.
> 
> Also, in case you were wondering about Becky's Vampire Ophelia - she created a set of enamel pins - Ophelia and Vampire Ophelia - beautiful and dark and amazing like Becky's work tends to be. If you aren't familiar with her work, please check [her out](http://www.beckycloonan.net/).
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> _Ophelia, risen from the grave. You know, when she sells her soul and comes back as an avenging vampire to bring destruction and ruin to Denmark._  
>  \--From Becky's headcanon


End file.
